Answers
by Annber03
Summary: The recent case leaves Reid and Hotch contemplating the concept of "closure". Tag to episode 8x20 ("Alchemy").


**_A/N:_** _Brief references to/spoilers for "Tabula Rasa" and "A Place at the Table"._

* * *

Reid's leg was twitching.

He could've blamed it on his lack of caffeine intake. He hadn't had a single cup of coffee for the last couple days, attempting to focus on sorting out his sleep schedule again. He'd managed just fine without coffee in the past, it shouldn't be difficult to retrain himself to do so now.

 _I had help last time, though._ _ **She'd**_ _helped me. I was getting better…_

Reid winced. There he went again, thoughts of her creeping in.

Mind, he hadn't expected his thoughts of Maeve to disappear anytime soon, nor did he _want_ them to. That dream the other night…oh, how he'd wanted to stay in that world forever. Just the two of them, slow dancing, wrapped in each other's arms, the music blending into a pleasant background sound. For once, he'd actually cursed himself upon waking up.

However, when it came to his job, his ability to set Maeve aside didn't seem to be working. He'd tried, of course. He threw himself right into the cases, obsessed over things like unusual times on watches or helped Morgan close a notable, painful chapter in his past. The continuing threat that was the Replicator had proved quite the distraction as well.

Until, that is, it was revealed the Replicator had used Maeve's death in their twisted game. All those painful memories came right back to the surface as a result.

Then, about two weeks ago, Reid had received a letter at work, freezing upon seeing the return address.

It was from Maeve's father.

After her death, Reid had been tempted to contact her parents. He'd started ten letters to them over the span of a couple months. Sometimes he'd begin by asking them how they were doing. Sometimes he'd express his condolences. He hadn't attended the funeral, after all, having been holed up in his home for two weeks, so it only seemed proper that he make up for the lost opportunity.

Five of the letters had started with him apologizing profusely for not being able to save their daughter's life. He'd go on trying to explain the whole terrible situation, only for that anger at Diane, at himself, even at Maeve, for refusing his help, to bubble up again. And all those letters soon became crumpled up balls on his floor.

Reid had shook as he'd hesitantly opened the letter from Maeve's dad. _Will he rant at me? Shame me? Demand to know how an FBI agent could fail to protect their daughter?_

All his fears dissipated quickly, however, turning instead to deep sorrow as he read her father's words. He'd mulled over the contents of the letter that night, and over the past couple weeks. His lack of sleep hadn't been the only thing weighing on his mind during the recent case in South Dakota, but he couldn't bring himself to explain his other troubles to Rossi. This was a problem only he deserved to deal with.

Now, however, that seemed about ready to change. Reid cast a nervous glance at his boss' office. Hotch had told Reid he'd wanted to talk to him at the end of the day, and his tone left no room for protest.

Fifteen minutes left before the end of Reid's workday.

His leg jiggled a little faster.

* * *

Hotch glanced between the clock and his office door, waiting patiently for his youngest agent to show. A tinge of relief ran through him when he heard the tentative knock at his door.

"Come in," he said, making sure his tone was gentle. He'd seen the slight fear in Reid's eyes when he told him to stop in after work, and wanted to kick himself. It was obvious the young man had been dealing with enough stress already lately. The last thing Hotch needed to do was scare him.

Reid's head appeared in the doorway, one foot cautiously entering the room. "You wanted to see me, Hotch?" His voice was small.

"Yes. Don't worry, you're not in trouble," he added in haste, seeing Reid's expression. "Have a seat." He gestured to the chair set up in front of his desk. Reid relaxed a little at Hotch's words, closing the door before settling into his seat.

Hotch sat as well, folding his hands atop his desk. "I just wanted to talk to you about the recent case."

Reid immediately tensed. _I knew it._ "Hotch, I don't –"

"Reid, please. Just listen to me," Hotch interrupted, holding a hand up. Reid's shoulders sagged.

"Rossi talked to you, didn't he?"

"No." He noticed the confusion on Reid's face, and matched it, unsure what Rossi had to do with this. "I want to talk to you about your comments at the profile briefing."

 _"_ _Even though the first two victims are dead, we can…certainly…step up our game, so we can give the victims' families some answers."_

Now Reid shrunk down in his seat, his face flushing at the memory of his sudden outburst. He'd felt everyone's eyes on him as he walked away after making that statement – it'd been the main reason Rossi had come to speak to him a short time later.

And it hadn't been the first time Reid had been pushy on that case, either. There were his comments to the local officer when he'd first arrived and seen the paltry amount of evidence ( _"I just – I feel like the victims' families deserve more."_ ), and he hadn't been all that subtle about the importance of taking this case, either, going so far as to briefly take over Garcia's role of explaining the situation to the team.

He couldn't help himself, though. When he'd read that newspaper article, all he could think of was Mr. Donovan's letter, and Mrs. Donovan, and…

Reid sighed, lowering his head. "I screwed up, didn't I?" Certainly wasn't the first time he'd gotten rather snippy towards law enforcement officials on a case, after all.

"No." Hotch waited until Reid looked directly at him. "I'm not mad, Reid. I'm just curious. You've obviously been distracted recently, and I understand why. But if it's affecting your ability to work, we do need to talk about it." He folded his hands again, leaning forward slightly. "Anything you tell me will be in confidence, you know that."

Reid nodded, hesitating, as he debated where to begin. Finally, he spoke. "I – I received a letter recently. From Maeve's father."

Hotch attempted to hide his surprise at this news. "Oh?"

"Yeah."

The glum look on Reid's face left Hotch dreading whatever he might hear next, but he had to press on. "What'd he say?"

"Remember how Maeve's mother had cancer?" Hotch nodded, his stomach sinking as he braced himself for what he now knew was coming. "According to Mr. Donovan, it's apparently spread in the last couple months. And it – she…she doesn't have a lot of time left." Reid finished, his eyes burning with tears.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hotch said softly.

Reid sniffled, wiping the tears away. "I'd tried writing to Maeve's parents, after – " He waved a hand. "I just felt they needed some explanation as to why they lost their daughter. I wanted to tell them why we didn't get involved sooner, why we didn't catch some of the signs about Diane. I'd even debated explaining Diane's motives to them, in case they were curious." He fiddled with his watch as he talked, not looking at Hotch anymore.

"But you couldn't go through with it," Hotch said knowingly. A simple nod was all he got in response, as Reid sniffled again.

"Because if you did, it'd feel like you were trying to excuse or justify the inexcusable and unjustifiable."

"Exactly." Reid threw Hotch a shocked look. "How'd you know?"

"Because of Haley." Reid's expression turned to one of understanding – _of_ _course, how did I not think of that?_ – and he waited for further explanation. Hotch remained quiet and thoughtful for a moment before he stood, hands behind his back, and began a slow trek around his office.

"After Haley's death, as much as I appreciated Jessica coming over to help me, I must also confess that there were days I didn't want her stopping by. Because when she did," he stopped, turning to focus on Reid now, "all I could think about was how I'd let her down again. I was supposed to be there for her sister as a husband, and I'd failed at that."

He'd wondered more than once about the amount of complaints Jessica had heard about him when Haley stayed with her after the divorce. To Jessica's credit, she'd never voiced those complaints aloud to him, but it didn't take away the fact that she knew about his bad traits all the same.

"Then Foyet came into our lives, and I'd put her in danger. And I couldn't keep her safe from that danger." Now Hotch became choked with emotion. Four years on, and the pain was as strong as ever. But if reliving it helped his youngest agent, he was willing to press on.

"To her credit, Jessica's never shown any anger or resentment towards me. But I wonder sometimes if she did. If she still does." He grew silent before continuing. "I know her father does."

"Her father?"

"Roy Brooks. He hasn't spoken to me since Haley's death. I've tried calling him, I've written letters, I've asked Jessica to pass messages on to him. He doesn't want to hear any of it. As far as he's concerned, I'm responsible for his daughter's death and he wants nothing to do with me."

"Oh." That was all the response Reid could muster. Seeing Hotch in an emotional state was just so awkward, and voicing the exact fears Reid held didn't help.

"I don't blame him for how he feels. But it doesn't make it any less painful," Hotch admitted.

"That's what scares me," Reid explained. "And the fact they barely know me makes it worse, I think. All they know about me is what Maeve told them, and we know how they felt about Bobby. What if – what if they feel that way about me?"

"You're not Bobby, though. You did everything you could to help Maeve."

"It didn't work, though." Reid couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. "And that's all her parents will remember. That's all her _mom_ will remember, because I didn't give her or Maeve's father the explanations they deserve."

Hotch waited until Reid finished his rant before returning to his desk, gaze fixed on him once again. "Reid," he began, "you remember Mr. Corbett?"

"Of course. He'd lost his daughter Darci to the Blue Ridge Strangler."

Hotch hid a smile at Reid's quick rattling off of the answer. "Yes. You connected with him on that case. You returned Darci's watch to him, you told him Moffat was going to prison, you stopped him from making a tragic mistake with that gun. You helped him find the answers he was looking for."

Reid shifted. "That was different, though, Hotch."

"How?"

"I wasn't in a relationship with his daughter. And he didn't have cancer."

"But he's reached out to you, Reid. If he wanted nothing to do with you, he wouldn't have contacted you at all, let alone update you on Mrs. Donovan's condition. He's giving you an opening, and if you really want to talk to him and his wife, you should take it."

"What if they're like Roy, and don't accept what I have to say?"

"What if they're like Jessica and do?" Hotch stared directly at Reid, letting that sentence sink in. "The point is, you won't know until you try. And it's clear you want to try." He saw the debate still raging in Reid's head, and continued. "Remember those families you were so determined to help in Rapid City. You can do this, Reid."

A brief silence passed before Reid spoke. "Okay. I'll try."

"Good." He looked at the clock. "Is there anything else you need to discuss with me?"

"No. I'm sorry about the case, though."

"It's all right. It happens to all of us." He straightened his folders. "If there's nothing more, you're free to leave. And Reid?" he began as the young man stood. He waited until Reid was looking at him. "Good luck."

Reid smiled, a genuine, touched smile. "Thanks, Hotch. For everything." One last nod from his boss, and Reid left the office.

After he closed the door, Hotch leaned back in his chair and sighed.

* * *

Reid scanned the directory, making sure he was on the right floor. He was. He began making his way down the hall, his shoes squeaking on the tiled floor. It was eerily quiet – there were a couple nurses coming in and out of rooms, a doctor making his way past Reid – but otherwise all he could hear was the faint sound of TV shows and the beeping and whirring of various machinery. He picked up his pace a little. Hospitals always had unnerved him. Too many painful memories.

He was in such a hurry that he didn't even see the man in front of him just exiting a room. "Oof!" He backed up, his mouth dropping as he took in who it was.

Mr. Donovan.

"Sir! Oh, gosh, I'm _so_ sorry!" Reid began, stammering and babbling. Mr. Donovan was talking over him, his hands touching Reid's arms.

"No, no, son, _I'm_ sorry. That's the second time I've run into somebody today…" The two finally stopped rambling, staring at each other for a moment.

"Spencer Reid," Mr. Donovan noted. "You got my letter."

Reid gulped. "Yes, sir."

He was surprised when Mr. Donovan then looked to the bundle of flowers in Reid's hand. "I didn't crush those, did I?"

"No. No, they seem fine…" Reid began, touching them and giving them a glance. He steeled himself for his next words. "They're, um – they're for…your wife. Is she - ?"

"She's awake," Mr. Donovan assured him. "A little tired, but awake." He tried to smile, but Reid saw the hint of sadness in his eyes.

"Would it be all right if I came in and talked to you two? It'd only take a few minutes." He waited, anxious, shifting the flowers to his other hand to keep them from getting sweaty.

"Of course. Please." Mr. Donovan extended his hand. Reid blinked, but obliged.

"Honey?" he heard the man whisper. Mrs. Donovan turned towards the sound of her husband's voice, slight confusion on her face as she noticed the young man with the flowers. "We have a visitor. You remember Spencer Reid?"

Mrs. Donovan nodded, pushing herself up in bed. Reid took in the amount of IVs attached to her, the amount of machines she was surrounded by, and he almost took a step back.

"It's all right, don't be nervous," Mrs. Donovan said, beckoning him with a hand.

"These are for you," Reid explained, handing the flowers over. He pulled up one of the chairs and settled next to her. Mr. Donovan, meanwhile, sat at the foot of his wife's bed.

"How sweet. Thank you," she said, examining the flowers for a minute before setting them on the dresser. She looked meaningfully at Reid. "You're here because of my husband's letter, aren't you?"

"Yes." Reid took a deep breath. "I'd wanted to write you over the last three months and eighteen days." He noticed the Donovans exchange a soft smirk. Maeve had been right about Reid's penchant for exactitude. "But I – well…I just didn't know what to say. Or if you even wanted to speak to me."

"Why wouldn't we?" Mrs. Donovan asked, genuine surprise in her voice.

"Because I couldn't save your daughter," Reid said, blinking as he looked away.

"Son," Mr. Donovan cut in, grabbing Reid's attention. "That is not your fault."

"But haven't you wondered why she died?"

"Of course. We've wondered why someone hated her enough to target her. We wondered why she wouldn't let us help her."

 _So it wasn't just me she refused help from,_ Reid noted. He didn't find that very reassuring.

"And we wondered if Bobby was involved," Mr. Donovan added. "But your supervisor, Aaron Hotchner, talked to us the night she…she died. He briefed us on all the measures that had been taken. He explained why you didn't initially suspect a female stalker – and his explanation made sense, as we hadn't expected that, either." He turned to his wife, who nodded to emphasize the point.

"And yes, in the days immediately following, we did wonder how FBI agents didn't catch on to some of these clues sooner," Mrs. Donovan admitted, looking down at her blanket. "But then we thought of Maeve." A wistful smile graced her face at the memory of her daughter, and Reid mirrored her expression.

"She told us about your team. She explained to us the work your team did, and that's when it clicked," Mr. Donovan said.

"What do you mean?"

"You study human behavior for a living. And human behavior is very complicated. Like Diane's was," he explained. "She's responsible for our daughter's death. Not your team. And not you."

"That's right," Mrs. Donovan said. "Your love for her was very apparent to us, Spencer. All the letters you sent her, the way she talked about you to us – I'd never seen her so happy. That's enough to tell me you did everything you could to help her, that you fought to the bitter end."

"I really did," Reid said, not holding back the tears anymore. "I loved her. Very much. I miss her."

"We know." Now Mr. Donovan's voice was wavering. "And that's why I wrote you. We wanted to thank you for making her so happy, and loving her, and looking out for her as you did. We hold no hard feelings, Spencer, I promise."

Reid could only mumble a "Thank you" in response, too overwhelmed to say much more. Mrs. Donovan reached over and squeezed his hand.

"Would you like to stay a little longer, until visiting hours are over? We can tell you some more things about Maeve, if you'd like to hear them," she said, looking to her husband.

"I'd like that very much. Thank you."

Mrs. Donovan squeezed his hand one more time.

 _Thank you, Maeve._

* * *

Hotch set his pen down, rubbing his eyes. He stared at the folder before him. Two hours, and he'd only managed to finish one page of his report. The conversation with Reid hadn't stopped running through his mind since he left work.

He stared at his phone. When was the last time he'd tried to contact Roy, anyway?

 _Had to be…a year and a half ago? Really?_ Hotch's eyes widened at the realization. He'd considered it right around the time he'd started dating Beth. Hotch had thought of Haley an awful lot then, wrestling with the choice to move on, and apparently that guilt had manifested into an attempt to try and talk to Roy.

Of course, there'd been no answer, just like all the other times.

Hotch refused to give up, though. He pulled out his address book, flipping to Roy's number (despite knowing it by heart at this point). He held his thumb over the buttons on his phone, ready to dial.

"Aaron?"

Hotch jumped slightly before looking up. "Jessica," he said, quickly setting his phone and book aside.

"How's the work going?" she asked.

"Ah, well, it's getting there," he said. "This case was a rough one." _For all sorts of reasons._

"Aren't they always?" Jessica asked, grinning slightly in an attempt to lighten the mood.

It worked. Hotch chuckled. "Good point." He looked back at her. "Do you need something?"

"Oh, well, I was just going to say if you don't need me to stay with Jack anymore tonight, I might head home."

Hotch looked at the clock. Goodness, it was getting late. "Is Jack in bed?"

"Yep. Homework's finished, too."

"All right, then yeah, I think that's everything."

"Wonderful. I'll see you later, then."

"Actually…Jessica?"

She halted at the door upon hearing Hotch's voice. "Yes?"

"Since it is getting awfully late, would you…want to just stay here tonight?"

"I don't want to impose…"

"You wouldn't. It's up to you, of course, but the offer stands."

Jessica considered this. She'd already been staying at Hotch's place as it was to take care of Jack when Hotch and his team were in South Dakota recently. And she still had a couple days left on her vacation from work. And she did indeed enjoy her time at the Hotchner household. _What's one more night going to hurt?_

"All right," she agreed. "Thanks, Aaron."

"No problem. I'll bring the spare bed out for you for whenever you're ready for bed."

"Sounds good. I'll just go freshen up, then." She began walking out the door, Hotch following behind. He touched her arm. "Jessica?"

She turned to face him. "Yeah, Aaron?"

"I don't know if I say this often enough, but…thank you. I really appreciate all you do for us."

Jessica wrapped her arms around Hotch's waist. "I love you guys. I always have. I'm happy to be here."

Hotch returned her hug, rubbing her back. "We're happy to have you here." They pulled apart then, Jessica heading off to get ready for bed. Hotch stopped in the doorway, taking one last look at his phone lying on the desk.

He'd try calling Roy again tomorrow.

* * *

 _Reviews/critiques/etc. are appreciated._


End file.
